


La Petite Mort

by Victorian_Asylum



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: AU, F/F, Smut, Takes place before da:o, it's just smut, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:36:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7517263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victorian_Asylum/pseuds/Victorian_Asylum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Far from the gossip of the party, an affair unfolds.</p><p> </p><p>Follow up to my other story, Enchante. It is not necessary to read that to understand this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Petite Mort

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, the ending of Enchante basically set this up and I wanted to write smut.

The mouth on Cousland's collarbone was positively sinful.

It had no right to feel so good, deftly drawing blood to the skin's surface in bruise that would take days to fade. Cousland wrapped her fingers in silky red hair as that mouth wandered lower, suppressing a moan that settled in the back of her throat. She pulled the bard’s head back, saw the confident smirk, the dilated eyes, half-lids and swollen lips, her entire look positively dripping with lust. Cousland couldn't wait to tear her apart. She wrapped her fingers around Leliana’s neck, gentle pressure, enough to establish control, watched her bite her lip, sapphire eyes slipping shut. Cousland pushed her back, through an open door until she collapsed onto the bed. She was in control.

Leliana appraised her, one perfectly sculpted brow raised, and asked, “Are you going to help me out of my clothes or am I going to have to do this myself?”

Cousland prowled, predatory, up the length of Leliana’s body, and the bard met her halfway, propped on elbows, melting into a bruising kiss. It took longer than Cousland would have liked to rid the bars of her dress, but an Orlesian is an Orlesian. Clothing was a language of its own, as vital as the flowery air they breathed. Silken fabric gave way to creamy skin, slowly exposed to the fire lit room. Sinewy muscle lay beneath the surface, a dare and a warning. Cousland may be in control, but only because the bard let her be. 

Devoid of her ornate dressing, Leliana reclined on the bed, seductive and enchanting, waiting to be fucked. “You have far too many layers on my dearest Emily.” It was posed as a suggestion but it carried the weight of a command.

So Cousland obeyed, putting on a show of slow undressing, watching sapphire eyes follow the exposed skin, pupils swollen with desire. She took pride in her physique, and her looks, assets that weakened the knees of many, entertained lovers like party guests, dazzling with riches and charisma to feed her own desires. Her ego thrived on the attention this bard was awarding her. Cousland stepped out of freshly pressed formalwear and crawled slowly, calculating, across the sheets until she lay over Leliana. 

She looked down upon her, searching, and Leliana have a slight nod, a subtle sign that this was still her desire. With that assurance, Cousland smiled that honey sweet smile and bit down hard on the bard’s collarbone, drawing a sweet gasp from those sugared lips. Cousland lived for the sounds her trysts made, there was nothing as rewarding as reducing someone to a quivering mess. She knew Orlesians preferred slow, sensual lovemaking, pleasure that blurred the hours and bled into each other, steamy and passionate. Cousland did not play such games, though she indulged from time to time. She wanted raw and rough and primal, the lines between bedroom and battleground foggy with lust. This, she knew, was not for everyone, so she sought one’s who would be open to it. Given it did not work some of the time, she was flexible. 

Leliana, however, seemed to revel in it, eyes blackened by overblown pupils. The teeth marks on her collarbone were deep, almost drawing blood, but she wore it like it were the newest trend. Cousland ran her hands down the bard's body, feeling the soft skin that have way to hard muscle, before leaning forward to wrap her mouth around one of Leliana's breasts, tongue teasing the nipple until it hardened. The moans that followed were low in her throat and breathy, settling warm in between Cousland’s legs. Satisfied, she lavished the same attention on the other breast, reveling in the near whines Leliana exhaled.

When she finished, she kissed a line from the hollow of Leliana’s throat to her hips, breaking away only to leave bruising bites along the expanse of her stomach. Cousland paused briefly to look at her, the heavy breaths, tousled hair, swollen lips and marked skin. Oh, how delightful it was to reduce such a renowned assassin and courtier to such a state. The power one commanded during sex was second only to the power of ruling a multitude of subjects, though only just.

The first swipe of Cousland’s tongue along the bard’s clit drove her mad. She swore softly in her native tongue, gripping Cousland’s hair. It was a slow, deliberate pace, meant to wind Leliana up, but by no means get her off. It would not be so simple, she wanted her to beg, and break. Leliana ground her hips against Cousland’s mouth, trying to get more, feel more, take in every sensation. Something akin to a keening sound escaped her lips, desperate with want. “Emily…” she pleaded, trying to guide her head lower.

Cousland pulled away, a disarming grin masking how much she adored this. “Rather needy, are we not.”

“Emily please.” Leliana was lost in the moment, pleasure loosening that honey tongue. Or perhaps she was simply playing the part, the one time lover ever eager for release. “S’il-te-plait je t'en prie.”

“Begging rather becomes you, Leliana,” Cousland said, drunk on the power this awarded her, a bard laid bare before her, exposed and wanting. There is so much more she’d like to do, so many toys and opportunities that were beyond her reach here. How she would love to put that Orlesian mouth to use, after all, they were some of the best lovers around. She would look positively ravishing on her knees, perhaps even better if she were to be taken from behind, handprints on her hips. Still, she would ensure this woman never forgot this night. “Though I suppose I should thank you for sparing my life.”

With the bard as wet as she was, it was easy to slip two fingers inside, the woman like silk around her. Leliana tossed her head back and moan, grabbing fast to Cousland’s shoulders at the sudden fullness inside her. The pace was rough and brutal, pushing relentlessly into her, and Leliana was all but screaming in ecstasy, nailing digging into the flesh of Cousland’s back, the perfect opportunity to draw blood. The occasional curl of Cousland’s fingers brought Leliana closer and closer, rocking her hips in an attempt to match the pace and take her fingers deeper, until she sank down to the knuckle. 

When Cousland added a third finger, Leliana nearly came, but she held on, taking only a moment to adjust to the extra digit. Cousland buried her face in the crook of the bard's neck, listening to every beautiful sound, the quick unwinding that was working its way into her moans and gasps, her grip become more separate, raking her nails down Cousland’s back. 

It only took a few circles of Cousland’s thumb along Leliana’s clit until she came undone, clenching around her fingers and arching into Cousland, biting down on the juncture between her neck and shoulder to mask the sounds of release. Cousland pumped her fingers, drawing out the orgasm until the bard was thoroughly spent. When her muscles relaxed, Leliana fell back into the plush and rumpled bed, riding out the final waves of pleasure. Cousland watched her, licked her fingers clean with devilish smirk, pleased with her work. This self-indulgent trip was proving to be well worth it. “Did that live up to your… Orlesian sensibilities?”

Leliana smiled, still managing the seductive look one would expect of a bard. A light sheen of sweat coated her body, face flushed. The room smelled of sex, a heady scent that Cousland craved. “Well, it is truly an Orlesian party now.”

“I hope you don't mind not returning to this party,” Cousland said, trailing her fingers along the marks that have surfaced on the bard’s skin, mottled purple and red that fit ever so perfectly on creamy, porcelain skin. A start, but there was so much left untouched and she wanted everything. She wanted raw throats and marred skin, she did not want the bard to walk. “I've plans for you yet.”

“Oh, is that so?”

Cousland leaned over the side of the bed and retrieved the belt from her trousers, a fine Antivan leather worth nearly her worthy in sovereigns. At the sight of it, Leliana’s breath hitched. “You weren't the most obedient, I cannot let that go unpunished. Roll over.”

Leliana did as she was commanded, exposing new skin to be marked and claimed, an expanse of untouched alabaster. 

This was going to be a party to remember.


End file.
